Interesting weekend

At least as the word "interesting" relates to the old curse, "May you live in interesting times."

Eh, things weren't that bad. I was just miserable because of the contrast with the fun I was going to have.

Here's my weekend, in a nutshell:

On Friday, I had the car loaded up with the dogs and various outdoor gear and headed out to Hico. There were a couple of causes for concern -- the car's radiator had been acting a bit strange and I had a minor head cold. But none of these things seemed that serious.

About five miles south on I-35W, my car's temperature guage had hit the red zone. I pulled over, cooled things down for about 10 minutes, started again. No dice. The temperature guage immediately jumped to the red zone. I drove into a truck stop and forlornly watched the tractor trailers coming and going, knowing my weekend had just become much more complicated.

I nursed my car back home, found a shop that installed radiators, and dropped the car off.

You ever have that feeling where you're expecting the Phone Call of Bad Car News? About an hour after taking the car to shop, my cell rang. I cursed, picked it up. The mechanic said the engine block had cracked.

I know nothing about cars*. Growing up, my Dad taught me the techniques of throwing a baseball, shooting a gun, grazing cattle, and the importance of matching the right actress with the right 1950s musical. We didn't cover cars. I'd kinda like to get into car repair and restoration as a hobby, but I have about 200 other things I'd like to get into as a hobby. How do you pick one or the other? Maybe my interest in making goat cheese will pan out sooner.

Anyway. I know nothing about cars. I do know, however, that "cracked engine block" is to a car as "pancreatic cancer" is to a person and "Let's see other people" is to a relationship.

In the meantime, the head cold launched and landed somewhere just short of a flu. I picked up the car from the shop, drove slowly home and spent the night, and most of the next day, in bed.

I was drugged up and missing a rare chance to be in Hico, tromping around and building a fire outside.

One silver lining: Meredith's Dad is an old Navy mechanic, and after telling me the engine block might not be cracked, agreed to tow the old girl to his place and attempt to repair it himself. (His theory is that the head gasket is blown. I nodded like I understood, then asked for a definition of "head gasket." And "blown.") So we have hope. I like my old Saturn wagon. It's the perfect car for me -- room for the dogs and backpacks, and it's old enough to where I don't really have to take care of it.

Meanwhile, for the time being, me and the wife will be living 1950s-style. As far as only having one car. Not so much the lack of feminism.

*One comedian had this line: Now, I don't know nothing about cars. At all. Once this lady told me her car wouldn't start, and I said, "Maybe someone is trying to kill you."